


A Last Hope: Echoes of Naboo

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: Balance [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU of an AU of an AU, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, GFY, Original Character(s), Politics, Slavery, background Cliegg Lars/Shmi Skywalker, slow burn Anakin/Padme, weaponizing voorpaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Palpatine had been Naboo. He had been one of her people. He had been a Sith. Padmé had seen the security footage wherein Qui-Gon Jinn, Master Yoda, and a dead man had murdered Chancellor Palpatine, formerly Senator of Naboo.</p><p>Padmé needed answers</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Last Hope: Echoes of Naboo

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Betas of Awesomeness: Alyyks, Flamethrower, and MoreCivilizedAge!
> 
> Also many thanks for Rillian and this version of Siri, who remain Flamethrower's creations, and they got to come and play here with her kind permission!

Padmé watched, emotions hidden behind formal makeup and a professional blank face, as Chancellor Valorum stood. He nodded to the quiet woman standing in a Senate guest pod that hovered near the Chancellor’s dais. “Thank you for your testimony, and your appeal, Madame Burtoni.” Valorum turned his attention to the rest of the Senate. “If there are no more questions, then we shall start the week-long consideration process. Please remember that all correspondence on these matters _must_ be kept confidential. I want no more incidents of closed hearings leaked to the press!”

‘Consideration process.’ Padmé mentally snorted. The consideration process Finis Valorum was talking about would be a week of frantic political maneuvering, trading favors, and possibly currying favor with the potential newest member of the Republic.

She watched Halle Burtoni dip her head in a graceful bow. The movement was formal instead of simple acknowledgment, accentuated by the long neck and elongated features.

Like most of the Senate, Padmé was paying far closer heed to the youngling in Burtoni’s pod. He was human, or near enough. He had close-cropped dark hair, a flat expression, and a military ‘at ease’ posture. The boy looked to be almost of age for a Naboo – and far more deadly than Padmé or any of her doubles when they’d been that young.

Disconcerting thought, that.

As the various Senate representatives and their entourages left their pods for the hallways, Padmé could hear the same indignant murmurs peppered between concerned speculation about Kamino:

_How could they possibly dare?_

_You know they would kill us all if they had a chance. Claim we’re all corrupt as holodrama politicians._

_Looking for an opportunity to take the helm of the Republic._

_Can you imagine living under Jedi rule?_

There were far, far fewer voices calling their fellow Senators to task than even a week before. The only one Padmé could make out for sure was her ‘uncle’ Ono – Senator Onacondra Farr from Rodia. He’d pulled several of his aides aside and was giving them a stern talking-to, combined with a very abridged history of the Jedi Order’s interaction with the Republic. It was just loud enough that he could pretend that he was merely taking his underlings to task, rather than using them as a convenient prop to make everyone in earshot very, very uncomfortable.

Padmé didn’t like the number of displeased looks he was getting for it.

By the time she got back to the Naboo delegation’s rooms, her headache felt big enough to fill the entire room. Yané was acting as the Queen’s handmaiden on duty. She followed Padmé into the side office meant for the secondary aides that Naboo’s new senator had yet to acquire.

So much unrest, so much turnover, and she hadn’t been on Coruscant for even two weeks.

 _Not to mention the three assassination attempts._ She pushed that little problem aside, sweeping over to sit in the oversized chair – throne, in truth – that had replaced the usual utilitarian seating. Yané handed her the small datapad listing matters of state that the Queen, even in absentia, needed to deal with, but she lingered rather than leaving the room. “The bounty hunter is waiting for a meeting, Majesty,” she murmured, eyes downcast and in a manner indicating that the room was indeed bugged.

Annoying, but not a surprise. All things considered, Padmé was just relieved that the Naboo personal suites did not seem to be recorded. In the meantime, she was glad the man had gotten enough results to report in. She was paying him an exorbitant amount of credits for _results_ , not so that he could sit around twiddling his thumbs. “Two minutes,” she commanded, leaning back and arranging herself at her most glacially regal. “Then show him in.”

Padmé wore a bored and demanding expression as her hired bounty hunter ambled in, his casual stroll contrasting with the silent way he moved. The lean Duros glanced at the silent Sabé waiting behind Padmé, then nodded to the queen. “Majesty,” he drawled, bringing two fingers to the brim of his ridiculous hat as a casual salute.

“Bounty hunter,” she returned, imperious and distant. “What have you found?”

Cad Bane pulled several datachips from a belt pouch, selecting one and setting it down on the desk. He hit the button to play the holo on it, and Padmé could not stop a tiny scowl at the bounty that popped up.

“Got a pretty price on your head, Majesty. Big enough to get some competent names interested, but small enough to keep it quiet.”

“Tell me something I cannot already see.”

Bane gave her the cool, laconic look that was measuring instead of disdainful. “Client doesn’t exist. Never existed, and it didn’t take much to find Nute Gunray under the front.”

Nute Gunray. Of course. Padmé allowed a hint of scorn to show. “He has never forgiven us for breaking his attempt to control our planet.”

Bane made a noise that could be taken for agreement, speculation, or just an audible recognition of her reputation – as well as Naboo’s. He tossed down several other display-chips, activating their projectors. Professional profiles of assorted assassins popped up, the sort of fluff and puffery one would expect to see anywhere assassins, mercenaries, and bounty hunters advertised their skills. “These are the folks after the bounty. You might want to skip planet for a little while.”

Almost a dozen. Wonderful. Padmé skimmed the profiles, then nodded. She made a gesture to Sabé, just grand enough to indicate her satisfaction. Sabé stepped forward, producing Bane’s fee along with a generous tip worth more than half of the already exorbitant fee. It was Padmé’s own money, and she wasn’t about to skimp when it came to a dangerous, competent man like this.

Cad Bane took the credits, with what may or may not have been a faintly pleased expression. He turned off one of the holos on the way out. “Took care’a that one for you.” Which in all likelihood meant the fool had gotten in the way of Bane’s investigation. “Keep tipping like that and I’ll let you know the price on your head before I take the assignment.”

“I’m sure I’ll be interested in seeing what your counteroffer is.” It wasn’t her imagination; Bane smirked a hair at her dry comment. He did the casual salute again, then ambled to the door.

Padmé gave him quite enough time to clear out. She needed the moment, if she were honest with herself. It was all getting to be a bit much. Governing a planet was not the easiest job in the galaxy, even if she was in the middle of her second term. Since Palpatine had been from Naboo, her presence was often demanded on Coruscant so that potential liabilities and connections could be investigated, and scapegoats found. There was also the wonderful little matter of the Chancellorship falling back on Finis Valorum, who had not forgotten that Padmé had been the one to call for the vote of No Confidence in him. True, she could point to Palpatine’s influence, but she could only do so much before it weakened her position far more than she liked. She wanted a career after her time in office, and while she’d heard mutterings of revoking the term limits so she could take a third term, the Senate had always fascinated her.

Enemy – or at least disfavored – of the Chancellor _and_ considered weak and easily manipulated?

No.

She allowed herself a sigh before picking up Yané’s datapad and skimming the details. They still had to return to Naboo within the next week, because the Queen’s presence was required for the annual harvest festival. She disliked having one of her doubles stand in for her, though Padmé had found that many prior monarchs were willing and happy to send an alternate representative. It might be unrecorded tradition that the harvest festival was a regular and often much-needed vacation for the Naboo ruler, but Padmé preferred to follow _actual_ tradition on as many parts of her job as possible.

She frowned at the next item on the pad. Cad Bane had not been the only quasi-legal operative she’d hired of late, and it seemed the slicer had results as well.

The leads were slim at best, but they tied together in a very suspicious way. A slaver vessel had recently disappeared from Tatooine space – an odd link to her past with Nute Gunray. Salvage that might have come from it had surfaced in a junk shop.

Padmé’s breath caught at the name.

Salvage was appearing at Watto’s Junk Shop, though not a single slave from that ship could be accounted for.

There was one other incident that could be related, though her slicer wasn’t sure. Three Jedi Masters – Mace Windu, Adi Gallia, and Yuri Dravaco – had all gone to Tatooine not too long ago. It was officially listed as a Search for an initiate, as well as a retreat, and they had returned with a young Ithorian, but it was still a hell of a coincidence.

“Have you arranged our flight plan home?”

“No, milady,” Sabé murmured, and Padmé nodded, passing the pad to her.

“Make sure to attend the third matter before then,” Padmé ordered.

Tatooine.

Well. This was bound to be an interesting trip home.

* * *

Padmé looked at the small homestead, lights glowing cheerily against the dark night with brilliant stars. It had taken most of the day to trace the two ex-Jedi to this moisture farm out in the middle of nowhere, and a long hour’s walk from their shuttle to the Lars homestead. It might be overkill, but Padmé didn’t want to give them any warning of her arrival, and when dealing with Jedi, it paid to be cautious. It seemed to have worked – they hadn’t been intercepted, even though they were close enough to see shadows flicker as people moved about in the sunken courtyard, and could hear laughter amongst the hubbub of voices.

“We don’t have to do this,” Yané whispered, hand still on her blaster. Padmé thought it showed great restraint that her handmaiden hadn’t said so before now.

“Yes, I do.” She smiled at Yané, then started walking. Palpatine had been Naboo. He had been one of her people. He had been a Sith. Padmé had seen the security footage wherein Qui-Gon Jinn, Master Yoda, and a dead man had murdered Chancellor Palpatine, formerly Senator of Naboo.

Was the dead man who she thought it was? Did they think she’d been in league with Palpatine? Did they have something to do with the bounty on her head? Padmé needed answers.

In all likelihood it would be easiest to walk up to the front door and use the door chime, but she had yet to decide if she would try to watch these maybe-Sith first or not. They stopped at the construction site next to the compound, going for the cover of framework of what would be buildings that looked to be sunk partially underground. Padmé didn’t think that it was habitable yet, whatever it would be.

Padmé inhaled sharply as they turned the last corner. Her blaster was up and ready before she quite registered that there was a young man slouched against a durasteel beam. His tawny hair was almost shoulder length, with a small tuft braided behind one ear, and his face was carefully neutral.

He was looking right at her. “Hi.”

“Er. Hello?” she said, listening to Yané ready her blaster and grind her teeth. “I was–”

“You’re here to see Qui-Gon, aren’t you.” He was making a statement, not asking a question, and there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

She went with the strange instinct that whispered she should trust him, that she _knew_ him, and holstered her blaster. “I was wondering if it would be safe.”

His mouth ticked up into a quick grin, there and gone again. “You’ll be fine.”

They stood there, gazes locked, until he lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. “He’s on his way. I’ll head back now, give you some privacy.”

It was something in how he turned away, the body language and a memory that had haunted her. “Anakin.” He stopped cold, shoulders drawing in a bit. It _was_ him. “What happened? No one could tell me what became of you.”

“You asked?”

“Of course.” He had helped to win the day, a child hero in a war that needed all the heroes it could get.

She also remembered how he’d looked, when he had first gazed up at her. She had felt something twinge within her, something good and strange.

The Jedi had been most reluctant to let any of their initiates socialize outside the Temple. She’d managed to glean some information at first, but within weeks she was told that it was a Temple matter, and to go away.

All in a very polite and respectful manner, of course.

“Oh.” His voice was quiet, uncertain. His head came up as a humanoid figure loomed out of the darkness, strolling up from the compound’s front entrance. It resolved into a man, lean with long gray hair and a close-trimmed beard.

He stopped next to the boy, a large hand moving around his shoulders in an awkward hug, but Anakin leaned into it, murmuring something she couldn’t hear. The man rumbled something back, and as Anakin trotted off he got his hair ruffled.

When it was just the three of them, Qui-Gon Jinn turned back to her. “Queen Amidala. It is an honor to see you again.”

She dipped her head in an abbreviated bow. “It is good to see you as well, Master Jinn.”

“Qui-Gon, please. I haven’t much stomach for formalities of late.”

There was no hostility in his loose stance, and she remembered him as a quiet, honorable man. She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Before or after you killed Chancellor Palpatine?”

Yané let out a quiet hiss. They would have to have that talk again later, about how she appreciated the hard work her handmaidens did, but there was a reason that _she_ was queen.

Qui-Gon’s eyes remained blue, though they turned frosty. “Before.”

Then he let the silence sit.

In any other circumstance, she would have laughed. It was a deft move, and she nodded an acknowledgement of it. “I was hoping you could enlighten me as to how one of my people’s greatest representatives could fall to such dark depths.”

“Practice," he sighed dryly, though there was something unpleasant lurking in his expression.

“And how was it that your padawan was there to help stop him?"

This time, her thrust hit home, and he gave the slightest flinch. Much more telling was the grief that flashed across his face along with a small, almost fond grin. “That– ” His voice broke a little. “I am honored that you remember him.” He sounded like he meant it. “But the man who helped me was not Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was a relative of his. Quite the startling likeness.”

It was a well-practiced lie. She appreciated that, and decided that whatever truth it was hiding, pursuing it was of no benefit. “Then I and my people thank you, and your companions, for your service to the galaxy.”

He gave her a flat little smile and a bow verging on ironic. “Must we spar some more, or will you get to the meat of the problem any time soon?”

Padmé laughed, surprised by the bluntness. Again, she had been caught flat-footed. “I wish to know how you, and Master _Yoda_ , of all people, could have Fallen. Of the few Jedi who will answer me, all they will say is that you two are...different. You are no longer Jedi, or affiliated with the Order, and that you are best left alone.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Yes.”

This time, she was the one letting the silence linger. He eyed her speculatively, then gave her a small, but very real smile. It wasn’t the usual plastine, empty expression she’d seen from so many people, which made it twice the surprise. The Qui-Gon Jinn she remembered from the crisis had not been open or happy. Maybe the kind to smirk a bit in amusement, but he had not struck her as the ‘happy’ type. “Perhaps you should come in and meet the others.” Qui-Gon met Yané’s eyes, and he gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. “You’re welcome to come along, of course. As well as your other two bodyguards, who are lurking further out under the impression I can’t detect them.”

To be fair, she might have forgotten just how infuriating the man could be.

* * *

Shmi Skywalker was just as welcoming as she had been six years before. Master Yoda was as gracious as she had heard, even as he shooed a crowd of younglings out of the main courtyard. Padmé was given a rapid-fire introduction to Anakin’s stepbrother and Owen’s lady-friend, who seemed to have volunteered for youngling duty. This left Padmé, Yané, Sabé, and Dormé jury-rigging seats from the assortment of packing crates that looked to be around for just this purpose.

Aside from Yoda, Qui-Gon, and Anakin, there were two more people that moved like Jedi, even if they didn’t act the part. When she asked about it, Qui-Gon made it quite clear that nobody here was affiliated with the Order, but admitted that they had all been raised as Jedi.

Padmé was fascinated. She might not be a Jedi herself, nor had she interacted with them every day, but she’d met her share; open friendship and fondness wasn’t the impression she’d walked away with. Yet that was exactly what she was seeing here, from the former Jedi who were the backbone of Qui-Gon’s new group. Though there was plenty of room for them all, they sat close enough to bump shoulders or knees while Qui-Gon skimmed the details of Palpatine’s death and sketched out the basics of what they were attempting here.

It was easy to see _why_ they wanted something new. Padmé leaned back, chewing on Qui-Gon’s assessment of what they were creating. For the first time that evening, she had no difficulty ignoring Anakin’s steady, awkward staring. “You have an interesting problem, Master Jinn.” She could see him flinch a little at the title, but being formal was a habit and it would help the structure that was sadly lacking here. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?”

Padmé glanced around. The others were attentive, curious. Padmé looked Jinn in the eyes. “I would like to help. I think there are ways that _Naboo_ could help. But we have many more things to discuss, and you will need to apply every bit of your reputation for diplomacy.” His brows shot up and he sat up a little straighter in the chair he’d claimed. “We will not ally with a disreputable group of...individuals from the Outer Rim.” Siri bristled, earning a sharp look from Sabé. Padmé ignored the byplay and continued. “An organization of Force users, however, that seek to live quiet lives and approach philosophical theories that the Jedi Order find a little...unconventional… Well. That’s a different matter altogether.”

Yoda, bless him, started to chuckle. Jinn looked a little abashed, and he dipped his head in an abbreviated bow to her. “It seems I have been neglecting my duties to our Shades. Perhaps you would be willing to advise me?”

Padmé couldn’t stop a small smile, glad to have the opportunity to repay the man who had once saved her, and her planet. “I would be delighted. I will, however, need a ride back to Naboo once we have finished our discussions, for Queen Amidala is needed, and must leave tonight.” Amusement sparked in Jinn’s eyes at the continued shell-game of identities.

She could almost hear Sabé rolling her eyes, and she could imagine the complaints she would be getting later from her body double.

“Wait, I thought…” Tachi trailed off, but Yoda made a comment to her in a soft voice and she fell silent, though she still looked confused.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Jinn said. He smiled a little, and the expression removed some of the pained lines from his face. “I suppose the Queen does not need to know the details of this discussion. Thank you for your assistance.”

 _Oh, this is going to be_ fun! Padmé smiled back. “It would be an honor.” She made a face, at last willing to relax a little and let Sabé off the hook. “It would also be a relief. I doubt anyone would track me back here, and a bit of sanctuary would be most welcome.”

She could not have gotten a more startling reaction from the gathered Shades if she had produced a bomb. Every one of them went a little tense, and she was surprised to see Anakin’s eyes flash amber. “Perhaps our difficulties are not all we should be discussing,” Jinn rumbled, looking at her askance. “You will be as safe here as we can make you.” He looked over her shoulder at Sabé. “I swear it.” Jinn gave her another smile. This one was more feral, all teeth and no humor. It was a sharp but not frightening reminder that this was not the Jedi Master who had first come to Naboo, but the merciless killer that had walked out of the reactor room, leaving behind a dead padawan – a small, sad sacrifice for the peace of her world. “Is someone chasing you again?”

For a long moment, it was as if the Force itself was holding its breath. Then Padmé laughed, perhaps giddy from the stress, perhaps from the whispers of something Dark and _protective_ that prowled around the room. It was brutal and perhaps a little bloodthirsty – but all that was directed outwards. “More fool they, if they are. Some assassins seem to be protesting my existence in recent weeks.” The impression she had of the Force was faint at best, but enough to better gauge the atmosphere in the room, and that atmosphere was one of outrage and protection, underscored by the scowls around the room and Anakin’s still-amber eyes. The Lars family showed no fear, either – Shmi even had her chin lifted high, and she looked just as protective as her son.

For the first time in _months,_ Padmé could feel Sabé relax, just a little.

“That is a concern for the Queen, not a handmaiden,” Sabé pointed out, and Padmé inclined her head in acknowledgement.

Master Yoda let out a thoughtful hum. “If making ties we are, then perhaps mutual benefit this negotiation should hold.” He smiled at Sabé. “Perhaps some new temporary guards the Queen should have, hmm?”

Qui-Gon gave him a sour look. “You’re just trying to get out of these discussions.”

Siri Tachi had a thoughtful expression. “It’d be a good trial run. Low risk, minor Darkness, known allies.”

[If you’re going, so am I.]

Siri chuckled and patted Rillian’s shoulder. “Us and Yoda, then?”

Qui-Gon made a soft, rude noise of amusement. “If you wish to take any of the younglings with you as well, I’m sure that can be arranged.” He was a master of the dry rebuke, and Padmé had to work to cover a smirk.

“What are you _doing_ with that many younglings about?” She didn’t think he was trying to raise a next generation of Shades, but she was still mystified as to the mass of children.

Siri Tachi answered, instead of Qui-Gon as Padmé expected. “We had a run in with some slavers.”

Oh. Oh gods. Yané let out a soft curse, and Padmé had to agree. Gods. The implications of Siri’s statement were horrible. In an attempt to move away from the images it brought to mind, Padmé asked the obvious followup. “What sort of mind-healers have they been seeing?”

Qui-Gon gave her a polite, but blank look. “Mind-healers?”

Padmé struggled to do more than breathe, caught between shock, outrage, and sorrow. After the Battle of Theed, the Jedi had remained on-planet long enough to witness formal documents drawn up to make sure that matters didn’t descend into chaos the instant they left the system. Then their job had been done.

Padmé, however, had been the leader responsible for rebuilding several major cities and repairing a good chunk of her planet. Physical needs were easy enough to meet with sufficient funds, but mental and emotional trauma were thornier problems. Ones that Padmé had had to deal with, and she’d learned a great deal about them in the process.

Padmé sat taller, glaring Qui-Gon in the eye. “Master Jinn.” She knew her voice was flat, that of Queen Amidala instead of Padmé, and she cared not one whit. “Are you telling me that no one on this entire farm has a basic understanding of mind-healing, nor is anyone here partaking of a mind-healer’s services?”

Dear gods, the man just continued to watch her blankly. Worse, so were all the other former Jedi – including Yoda. The former head of the Jedi Order was watching her as if she were speaking of some new-fangled profession with half-baked notions and practices, not an established medical field that had practitioners across the galaxy.

“There seems to be no need,” Jinn declared, cautious yet ignorant of the minefield he’d just ambled into. “They’re recovering well. And I do believe I said– ”

“ _Master_ Jinn, you miss the point. Younglings are resilient, younglings can and often do bounce back from horrific events, but assistance is useful and often necessary in the long term. There is almost always ‘need,’ for all that it can be difficult to see. I understand that Jedi are taught in ways different from most of the galaxy, but do take it from someone who has had to become well versed in the aftermath of trauma: those younglings need mind-healers.” She drew herself into a more regal posture. “Any business we conduct is dependent upon you getting those younglings assistance.”

The silence lasted for a long moment. Then Yoda made a thoughtful humming noise. “Recommendations, have you?”

Queen Amidala graced him with a small, sharp smile. “Perhaps a few, Master Yoda.” She hesitated, then cast Naboo’s lot with these Shades. “Master Jinn’s joke about taking younglings might not be the worst idea. The Naboo cherish their children, and there are still families feeling loss from the war six years ago. Fosterlings are cherished just as much as those born to their parents.”

The gratitude on Qui-Gon’s face did not warm her a fraction as much as the heartfelt murmur of hope from Shmi Skywalker.

* * *

Qui-Gon couldn’t quite believe it had been a full rotation. He had never fully understood the Naboo fascination with a meritocracy taken to extremes, but it seemed that Padmé Amidala was a perfect example of it. Years ago, he’d had to trust that the fourteen-year-old Queen was competent enough that she could be elected. She had quickly exceeded his expectations back then, just as she'd done last night.

When Padmé and her handmaidens returned from their ship not too long past sunsrise, the Queen began a careful interrogation regarding his goals for the Shades, hitting many points Qui-Gon and Yoda had already hashed out, along with opening up new avenues they had thought irrelevant or at least not immediate.

Mind healers. Qui-Gon kept rolling that possibility around. The Queen hadn’t flat out said that Qui-Gon and the other Shades should see one, but it had been heavily implied by some of her remarks. He’d managed to keep his expression blank and polite. Throwing her off the premises would have been rude.

It was a nice idea. If the mind-healer could be trusted. If they didn’t get themselves or the people they were treating killed by misreading a reaction and pushing in the wrong way. There were few beings who fully understood the Jedi Order. Even fewer would understand the Shades, who were significantly more dangerous than your average Jedi. Mind-healers weren’t droids, either – they had goals and foibles and prejudices, just as all beings did. Qui-Gon had spent years jealously guarding his thoughts and secrets from Dooku; laying them bare for someone he neither knew nor trusted made lightning want to spark on his fingers.

Qui-Gon knew full-well that he was Dark, dangerous, and broken. In theory, he might do well to work with a mind-healer or five. In practice, it could all go pear-shaped in a multitude of new and explosive ways.

For the children though...that was a different matter. They had been traumatized, yes, but they weren’t likely to torture their mind-healer to death for asking the wrong question. For them, mind-healers might be as necessary and beneficial as Queen Amidala kept insisting. If some of the other Shades availed themselves of such healing, Qui-Gon wouldn’t oppose it, though he doubted Anakin would be eager to open up; nor would Siri.

A cool breeze blew from the east, making Qui-Gon tug his cloak more firmly around himself. The suns had already set, leaving only the last light to bleed gently from the western sky, stars already sprinkled overhead like raindrops. It was eerily quiet. He’d become used to the hubbub of young voices spilling out of the Lars homestead, and now most of the children were gone. They’d returned as many to their homes or families as they could, but there had still been almost a dozen left. Of those, only six now remained, the rest having left with the Naboo ship. It should have been easy to talk a handful of younglings into trading an arid wasteland of a planet for a lush world with new families, but Tatooine and the Shades represented freedom and safety. For children who knew the trauma of being captured into slavery, who’d experienced the wrenching loss of home and family, the Shades were the protectors they knew they could count on. They had also had time to bond with the Lars family and the Shades, starting to settle into their new lives with the kind of adaptability that Qui-Gon had pointed out the night before. It had taken Yoda, Padmé, and Shmi’s combined persuasion to convince the younglings to uproot again, and Karamasidu had hunkered down and refused to budge. The ones that would be staying were Yuna, Novee, and Sozur, as well as Zakaths and Rad. Zakaths was fourteen Standard, and came from a farming family, and although Rad was only twelve, they were quick to learn and willing to work. Both of them had already asked if they could work for Cliegg as farm hands, and had chosen to stay even when Naboo became an option. Edey had also asked to stay as a farm hand, but they had, frankly, been lazy and whiny enough to grate on Cliegg’s nerves, and Cliegg had been firm about tossing Edey onto the Naboo transport. The man hadn’t gone so far as to say ‘good riddance,’ but Qui-Gon did think that the young Mon Cal might find better opportunities on Naboo. Then there was Karamasidu. Only four years old, Kari had nonetheless refused all attempts to convince them to leave the Lars family and the Shades.

For the first time in weeks, the compound was almost empty. With the immediate emergencies taken care of, it was starting to feel like time to go from planning to action. They could start inviting others to the venture, maybe even look into the mind-healers Padmé had recommended. She had been quite vehement that if the Queen needed to ‘volunteer’ them, she would.

He could feel the brush of Yoda’s mind as _Sand Scrubber_ took off just outside the Lars farm. Qui-Gon sent a return mental gesture, reaching out to Rillian as well. Her response was a wordless swell of distracted but sincere good cheer, and Qui-Gon smiled, leaving her to her piloting.

 _Sand Scrubber_ curved away from the farm, heading towards the chromium Naboo shuttle lifting off. Qui-Gon crossed his arms to watch until he could no longer feel his students.

* * *

Siri paced in the back of the Naboo shuttle, feeling Tatooine fall away behind them. Rillian and Yoda were following in their little junk heap, which to be fair was in much better state now that Skywalker was tinkering with it on a regular basis.

One of the handmaidens strolled into the small lounge area that doubled as an audience room. She was indistinguishable from the others save for her presence in the Force. Siri tilted her head, giving the woman a look. “Sabé,” she declared as greeting and challenge.

The Naboo had a flicker of a smile she couldn’t quite quash. “Tachi,” she returned. “I need to know what to expect from you and the others when we land. ‘Assisting us’ and ‘protecting the queen’ is not quite a sufficient battle plan.”

“I stick with the handmaidens. If it doesn’t break tradition, I’m willing to go in disguise. Yoda and Rillian will be part of the typical security detail, though odds are that Yoda will sneak off and do what he damn well pleases on his own.” She hesitated, because there had been a certain electricity in the Force from early on with this woman. Then she decided it might as well be out in the open. “Also, I try not to flirt when on duty.” It was a nice change. Considering the company she’d kept on her undercover mission, sometimes just opening her mouth had been considered flirting. ‘No flirting on the job’ was a rule she’d set for herself after joining Qui-Gon’s group.

Sabé held herself with more poise and dignity, a tiny smile curving her lips. “While milady is otherwise occupied, my duties mean I am the primary body double. Until that is no longer the case, I am considered too busy for other diversions.” A small movement made that smile into a smirk. “Afterwards, however, we might wish to discuss the matter again.”

Siri had to laugh. She liked the confidence. “Afterwards,” she agreed.

* * *

Padmé stepped out of the small guest quarters, stopping in her tracks. Anakin stood in a casual slouch, his back to her and leaning against a wall. He had something in his hands that he was fiddling with, but the jury-rigged play area against the far wall – empty now of the younglings that had claimed it as their own – seemed to hold his attention. Yet when she walked up to him, he glanced over, once again seeming unsurprised to see her.

“Good morning,” she greeted him. Still fiddling with the droid, he just nodded back. She didn’t quite know what to make of Anakin’s distraction. He had avoided her much of the day before, but whenever he had been in her presence, she’d always felt his attention on her.

“Morning.” He kept his voice as soft as hers, though there was something sharp and intent on his face as he turned to look back at the play area.

She’d seen that look in too many morning meetings. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

He paused, as if he had to consider. “Not since last night? I mean, night before. Something. I’ve been busy.” He looked down at the thing in his hands, rolling the spherical object around. It was still too dark to see what it was. “Can we talk? Privately, I mean. The work room. I don’t mean anything inappropriate, I just want to, you know, talk.”

She couldn’t decide if it was adorable or awkward, how he kept trying to be a gentleman when it was clear that the Jedi had never trained him in that, and no one around here seemed to care. “Of course.” At her gesture, he smiled and turned away. Padmé had to take a deep, quiet breath, because of all the things, that smile was the single most impressive change to Anakin Skywalker. He was still gawky, a young teenager with all the angles and unfinished lines, but when he smiled like that it lit up his face with what seemed to be unmitigated joy.

She was in politics. She didn’t see much openness.

By the time they ducked into a garage/work room area, she was composed again. Anakin, on the other hand, looked more nervous. He started to pace around, picking up and putting tools down before he just sighed.

“Has Qui-Gon talked about trade?”

She blinked, then replayed the words. “Excuse me?”

“I know you made it clear we need mind healers for the kids, and we’re going to help out if you need mediators and shi — stuff. Make friends, find homes for the kids, great. But what about the long term?” This very strange creature that still looked like Anakin stared her in the eyes. “Has he said _anything_ about that?”

“Nnno, he hasn’t.” This...was remarkable, and odd. She would have sooner expected Yoda to grow several feet overnight. “Why?”

He went back to pacing. “Great. Fuckin’ great.” He shook his head, running a hand through already messy hair. “He’s still used to getting funded.” A quick glance, a faint blush, and he spun away. “We’ve got a reserve of funds, but no income. It’s a _hell_ of a reserve, but it’s gonna run dry one of these days, and he’s not looking that far ahead. So. Does Naboo need something in trade?”

“From Tatooine?” It wasn’t the most tactful response, but the notion that this reckless young teenager would even consider for a moment where future funds would be coming from – it left her boggled.

“Well, I guess we can ship things. Not too lucrative.” He made a face and shrugged. “Japor goods, jerba products – I don’t think you need water.”

“Japor. That’s...what you used to make the charm for me?”

Anakin went still. When he glanced over, it was slow, hesitant. “You remember.”

“Of course I– do you really think I went addle-minded in the last six years and don’t recall _anything_ about what happened?”

He ducked his head, looking more like one of the younglings than a teenager. “Um. Well. I just...” He shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “Old habits. Sorry.”

“You’re as bad as Master Jinn.”

He went still, then snickered. “Shit, have you told him – shit, sorry! I don’t –” He stopped and put his face in a hand, taking a few deep breaths. “Sorry. I don’t really bother watching my language. I...hope I’m not too offensive?”

Padmé giggled. “You obviously have not been to larger political events. There’s a special art to knowing which of your allies speaks what languages, which of your enemies _don’t_ , and what filthy things you can get away saying to whom.”

Anakin stared at her for a moment, stars in his eyes before he shook his head and looked away. “Wow. You’ll have to tell me sometime. _Anyway_. Yes, that was japor ivory, and it’s on jerba leather. Local herd beasts. I think it could all be passed off as traditional arts and materials from a foreign world?”

Padmé _gaped_. “Anakin Skywalker, are you seriously trying to get the Queen of a world to negotiate some trade treaty in your workshop?”

“Oh _gods_ , I knew this was a bad idea.” He tossed the spherical thing onto a table and dropped his face into both hands. “Um. Not...formally, or anything. Just– I mean– _Argh_.” He slumped against the wall, letting his hands fall back down to his sides. “We’re spending credits like it’s sand.” The boy didn’t look back up at her, staring at the far wall instead. His face looked too _old_ for someone still in his teens. “I dunno, maybe Qui-Gon has a good idea how much money there is, and he’s keeping an eye on it, and I’m just worrying too much. But so fuckin’ help me, I will _not_ let this founder because that jackass thinks he’s got an endless expanse of credits.”

Anakin took a deep breath, then scooped up the sphere. “Look, as an alternative, I– ok, no, wait. I made this for you. It’s still a little crude, and it’s a prototype, but I can fix it up and all it needs right now is some synthfur.”

Padmé caught the machine he tossed to her, turning it in her hands until it made sense. It was a droid of some sort, round with eight spindly little legs tucked against the bottom. A pair of eyes, large and unlit, were over a button nose and slit for a mouth, with a few sharp teeth protruding over the lip. She squinted at it, trying to imagine it covered with synthfur, then she blinked. “You made me a voorpak?”

The little puffballs were native to Naboo, tiny carnivores that were often used as a status symbol or mascots. Padmé had always liked the fact that they were affectionate little handwarmers, and quite cuddly, but she did not have a fraction of the time needed for a pet.

She had no idea what to make of a mechanical voorpak.

“Yeah.” Anakin shifted around, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I did some research on Naboo. They’re popular, right? A-anyway, um, here.” He took a cautious step closer, reaching out for the little droid. He turned it so the legs aimed upwards, then tapped something. It squeaked and moved, legs flailing around a little as he crooned reassurance to it. “Ok, so this is all tested and everything, and might look weird, but that’s mostly the lack of fur. I thought we had some, sorry.”

“That’s...fine.”

He seemed to pick up on the tone, glancing up with a sheepish expression. “If this isn’t something you like, that’s fine. I’m not, you know, offended or anything. I just thought– you know. Um. Middle legs.” He shifted a little, wrapping a hand around the middle two legs on a side, the droid squeaking and letting him gather them together without any fuss. Padmé squawked as he pulled, the legs smoothly gliding out of the droid’s body with a nasty little vibroblade on the other end. The droid didn’t seem bothered by it, instead squeaking and flailing the other set of legs as if to demand to know why he hadn’t done that on _both_ sides.

“Hold-out blades, but should be good for surp– um.” He fell silent at her expression, which was reasonable enough given that Padmé herself couldn’t tell if it was surprised, horrified, or admiring. “It’s ok, it’s built that way, doesn’t hurt it, I swear! Aww, crap, I’m sorry, I– ” He was fumbling a little to re-sheathe the blade, and in all likelihood it was only due to the droid being helpful and realigning to get everything lined up that nothing messy happened with the knife. When the legs slid home, the voorpak chirruped and flipped over, giving a full body shake and blinking large eyes up at her.

“Anakin, Anakin! Stop, it’s all right, just next time _warn_ me!” Somehow they ended standing close together, droid in one of her hands, the other on his shoulder, and his eyes dark with self-recriminations. “You have to admit that was startling since I had no idea what to expect!”

“Yeah. Sorry. I– I just– ” He swiped a hand over his face. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Padmé leaned in a little closer, moving her hand along his shoulder into a rough approximation of a hug. When she could feel him tensing a little, she pulled back and gave him a small grin. “Two vibroblades, and what else?”

He blinked. “What?”

She tried to keep her voice light and gently teasing. “You mean to tell me that’s all it does?” The droid churred at her as if in protest, so she grinned down at it. “I’m sure you’re adorable and a good handwarmer, but I suspect Ani did more than that.”

The droid turned to face her, ducking the front end down in a bow. A panel slid open on the top, revealing a space within. She looked over at Ani, who reached out and ran a light finger along the rim. “Should be enough room for a small blaster there, but since I wasn’t sure what model you liked and it’s not like we have any spares and fuck I mean– ok, look. One last thing, since this guy is all about the self-defense.”

He was careful as he stood up, not looking at her. He turned and fished up a somewhat melted droid part, distorted beyond easy identification. After Anakin set it down on the duracrete, he stepped back and pointed to the metal. “All right, little guy, do your thing.”

The droid squealed with glee, hopping off Padmé’s hand before _lunging_ at the metal. It clamped on with all its legs, shaking a little as with a fierce hum, the legs and belly started to glow a cherry red. The voorpak’s victim began to slag down, and Padmé looked over at Anakin. He stood a little awkwardly, somehow managing to be both proud and sheepish about the little droid.

“Wow,” she managed.

Anakin started to look crestfallen, and the voorpak chirruped as it hopped off the metal, giving itself a little shake. There was a faint hiss, followed by the glowing metal of its belly fading. By the time the thing pranced over to nuzzle against Padmé’s leg, there was no sign that it had just melted tempered metal like it was ice.

“You weaponized a voorpak.” Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

“Well, technically a voorpak droid. Um. Yeah.”

Padmé blinked and reached down to stroke the droid’s back. It purred like a real voorpak, immensely pleased with itself. “What happens when it does that and it has fur?”

The boy glanced up at her, expression cautious and uncertain. “I figure if things are that bad, camouflage isn’t that important.”

She snorted, having to acknowledge the point. _Panaka will have a fit if you bring this home._ Padmé chewed on her lip for a moment, then she glanced up with a smile she could not curb. “If you’re going to make more of these, I think at the very least they shouldn’t have the last ditch defense. Probably not the blades, either.”

He blinked a few times, then that grin started to reappear. “You like it?”

She smiled back, a little surprised at how earnest the expression was. “It’s adorable and I fully intend to fight the head of my protection detail to keep it.” Once again, she was a bit taken aback at how Ani’s earnestness seemed infectious, but she couldn’t say that she minded.

A comfortable silence settled over them, giving Padmé time to consider the odd fascination Anakin seemed to have as he picked up the voorpak droid and checked it over.

“Why is this so important to you?” she finally asked.

Anakin stared down at the little droid, fiddling with it. “When I was growing up, money was always tight with Watto. He likes to gamble. So we never knew when we we’d need the very little we could save up, or for how long.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I know that now it’s not so bad we’d be facing something ugly like that, it’s just...I dunno. This Shades thing is important. It falling on its damn a– Um. If it failed, that would be awful.”

“Anakin.” He glanced up, and Padmé held up two fingers. “I agree. And I truly don’t care what language you use. So stop trying to act like someone you’re not, because it just makes things awkward and difficult.”

Ani went from grinning a little to ducking his head again. “All...all right.” He took a deep breath, then met her eyes again. “So you think there’s a deal we can make here?”

There was no way she should find that open, _genuine_ grin so charming, yet she was smiling right back. “I think we can arrange something.”

* * *

“Oh gods, _green_.” Siri didn’t _mean_ to moan it, but it had been a while since she’d been on a planet that was neither a desert nor a target. One of the handmaidens gave her a wry little smile as they filed out into a spacious hanger and the welcoming party of a security detail, some well-wishers, and more bureaucrats than Siri ever liked to see. _Sand Scrubber_ was already parked nearby, and when she reached out in the Force, it registered as empty.

Yoda and Rillian met the group in the throne room. It was interesting to see how well-versed Yoda was in the diplomatic dance, ears twitching at some of the goings-on they had to watch. Rillian was a more active, watchful presence, prowling around investigating assorted corners. Siri remained with the handmaidens, dressed in her usual garb but positioned at the end as if she were an honorary member of that group.

All three Shades kept their lightsabers discreetly out of view, so as not to scream ‘Jedi’ to anyone. They made an intimidating enough presence, so Siri wasn’t surprised that nothing exciting happened through the day.

* * *

A soft, metallic growl woke Padmé. She stayed still, pretending at sleep even as she scanned the room. Her voorpak was perched on the bedside table, and had it had fur, she suspected it would have been bristling. It was glaring at the door, ears aggressively back and twitching.

She had her blaster in hand when the door eased open. She could see Qui-Gon’s silhouette, long hair tied back as he took a step into the room. There was someone behind him, though all she could make out was the faint humanoid form.

Her first thought was that the assassins might have tried something, and the Shades were making sure she was all right.

Her second was more a very, very bad feeling.

Her first blaster shot took the entering figure in the face, the second through fourth were to the center mass which seemed to deflate into something much smaller.

The droid voorpak leapt past the falling figure that wasn’t anything like Qui-Gon anymore. It squalled as it dodged past a raised arm to the Zabrak standing behind, clamping onto his face.

If her blaster hadn’t woken everyone, then his screaming did the job.

Padmé ignored the smoking man still trying to scream, bolting past him and diving through the short entryway. She came out the door in a roll, so several blaster shots went very wide above her head. Two were aimed low, but not low enough. She couldn’t stop a yelp as the last bolt of plasma skimmed over her shoulder, searing away part of her shirt sleeve as she went onto her stomach instead of coming to her feet.

Then the courtyard was lit by lightsabers and amber eyes. The ensuing scrap was short, vicious, and deadly. By the end of it, Padmé was tucked behind the packing crates. Shmi was crouched next to her, blaster rifle still at the ready.

* * *

Ani’s hands were almost shaking as he checked over the voorpak droid, his movements automatic. The droid was smug and pleased with itself, nuzzling up against his hands with happy little churrs. Ani wasn’t paying much attention, instead caught between keeping an eye on the younglings and watching Qui-Gon heal Padmé’s arm. Owen and Mom were seeing to most of the kids, while Yuna was tucked in close to Qui-Gon’s side. She was watching wide-eyed as Qui-Gon applied bacta and the Force, probably slower than Yoda could do but better than anyone else. Soz and Cliegg were walking the perimeter, well-armed and prepared for anything. Ani couldn’t feel anything in range in the Force, but he didn’t blame them for wanting to make sure.

Six different assassins. All dead now, which meant they couldn’t confirm details about their potential employer. Padmé had identified two of them as beings she knew were after her.

They’d come damn close. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved he’d made the droid, awed at the way Padmé had handled herself, or just worried sick about the fact that half a fucking dozen assassins had just snuck into his home and tried to kill someone.

Fuck it. He hefted the voorpak up, staring it in the optical receptors. “Hey,” he whispered. It chirruped and tilted a little. “Keep a close eye on her, please?”

It gave some cheerful and eager squeaks, bouncing around in his palms until he grinned. “Thanks.” He set it down, and it bounded over to Padmé. She greeted it with a tired, pleased smile, letting it clamber into her lap while she continued to share quiet words with Qui-Gon.

When she spared a moment to give him a smile – a real, full smile, Ani couldn’t stop a flush and a helpless, doofy smile back. He’d thought she was the most beautiful being he’d ever seen when he was a kid. That hadn’t changed, and he just got more impressed the more he saw of her now.

He really, really hoped she was serious about wanting to be allies.

* * *

Siri had not actually expected an assassination attempt at breakfast. She, Yoda, and Rillian had grabbed some protein cubes while ‘Queen Amidala’ and her attendants were getting ready to leave their rooms. Breakfast was some official meeting or another with multiple planetary officials, both native Naboo and Gungan.

The wait staff had replaced the first course with a second that was a bizarre shade of blue. Siri was patrolling up and down one side of the long, elegant hall, while Rillian did the same opposite her. They were near the far ends of the room when Yoda somersaulted out of the meditative pose he’d taken up behind the Queen’s chair. His lightsaber was out and flashing in a swift move to divert a blasterbolt that would have hit the Queen right in the throat. Political officials screamed and dove out of their chairs as Yoda landed between plates and abandoned cutlery, his eyes already glowing bright citrine.

Siri could feel both the Dark side, swelling up inside as anger at the idiots who had _dared_ , along with some self-recriminations at not sensing danger until it would have been too late. There was also the satisfying, solid feel of Rillian’s determination as the Wookiee took off at a run, diving out a window and then bounding across rooftops towards the cluster of towers that hinted faintly of danger.

Snipers. Wonderful.

Siri was already looking towards the windows on the other side, lightsaber raised. She darted forward, listening to the Force and tapping into it for speed so that she was in place in time. Several assassin drones opened fire, shattering windows and making politicians scream even more.

Siri and Yoda blocked and diverted the first wave of bolts, the two falling into a defensive, swirling pattern that began returning the fire to the droids. Sabé – the ‘Queen’ – and several handmaidens drew blasters from Siri had no idea where, joining in the defensive fire.

“Get her clear!” Yoda snapped, before growling and hurtling forward like gravity had no hold upon him. The old Master bounced between several pillars until he was high enough to leap through the broken windows, launching himself at the drones.

“With me!” Siri snapped, for all that she had to tamp down a flare of anger because come on, they had cover and why the hells should she be dragging anyone anywhere–

No. That was useless Darkness, and stupid planning, to boot; being a moving target was better than being a sitting duck, especially if this was just a diversion to pin them in place while something worse came down on them. Siri wrestled her Darkness back down even as she grabbed Sabé, hauling the woman to her feet and almost tossing her the first few steps down the hall. Siri remained between the other fleeing handmaidens and the droids that were still firing on them, making a fighting retreat. Yoda meanwhile was having a grand old time leaping between assassin drones, dismantling some and distracting others to chase after him. Siri could feel a distant sense of grim satisfaction from Rillian, then Siri was at the doorway.

The handmaidens had gathered there, a protective blaster-wielding huddle around Sabé. They moved out as one, Siri taking a position at the rear flank. She could feel danger settling in around them, and she had to work to find ill intent floating through the Force towards her.

There. There. One other, _there_.

Siri lunged, sweeping her lightsaber down low to take the assassin through the waist.

The Patrolian ducked, its headfin searing with that stomach churning stench of burning fish. It squalled, lashing out with sharpened claws. Siri growled as it slashed her leg, not deep enough to incapacitate but more than enough to slow her down. The Patrolian giggled, then had just enough time to yelp before she took off its head.

She could hear a different yelp amongst a sudden storm of blaster-fire, and in the Force Yané’s presence flared with pain and shock of injury. A moment later, one of the hostile presences flickered out. Siri spun about, blocking more blaster bolts but not quite swift enough to get them all. One of the local handmaidens whose name she hadn’t learned dropped down to her knees without a sound, alive but in bad shape.

Siri’s Force-shove sent the last assassin through two walls and left the remains splatting down into the nearest lake. The sense of danger faded, leaving the mental sensation like an old bruise rather than a fresh wound.

Siri stood, lightsaber poised to deflect further attacks for a few moments more. When no threat materialized, the handmaidens began to turn towards their fallen sisters. Siri spun and grabbed the second wounded handmaiden. She would have worried about the Darkness she’d tapped into, except she was channeling that fear and anger to Force-sprint towards the palace’s medics.

* * *

Ani had a lot of mixed feelings, watching Padmé laugh and play with Novee and Rad in the courtyard. On the one hand, he didn’t really want to see her go. She’d been around for almost a week, now, and the one attack had been it – though there’d been two attempts on Naboo. Panaka, head of Padmé’s security detail, had contacted them a few days previously to let them know a transport would arrive to take her home, since all the assassins known to be after her were now accounted for.

It was... _nice_ , being able to talk with her. She was funny, and scary intelligent, and just...really impressive.

On the other hand, it would be nice to not feel like every time he opened up his mouth it was to stick his foot in.

When the transport arrived, it was an ordinary starfighter, big enough for maybe two people. Everyone at the homestead was there to greet it except the kids, watched by Owen and Beru. The astromech guiding the ship popped the canopy, letting out Captain Panaka. Ani stayed quiet as Padmé and Qui-Gon stepped forward to meet the Captain, talk a little. The man looked a lot like he had, six years ago, though a little more worn with some visible stress lines around the eyes.

Padmé broke out of the conversation first, stepping over to Ani with that grin, the very cute one that meant trouble. “There’s someone you ought to meet,” she said, and at his blank look, she turned and gestured to the starfighter.

The astromech ejected itself, dropping out of the ship and rolling towards them with a cheerful, curious trill in Binary. Ani’s jaw dropped, then he broke into a smile and knelt down to be closer to the droid’s height. “Artoo?” he asked, because of course he remembered this particular astromech. “R2D2, right?”

The droid gave a suspicious bewoop. Ani laughed. “I guess I have changed some since we blew up a droid control ship together.”

Artoo’s optical swiveled to get a closer look at him, accompanied by another, more cautious string of beeps.

Ani pulled back. “‘Which one?’” He stared at Padmé, who wasn’t doing a good job hiding a smile behind her hand. “What have you been up to, that he’s asking which ship he blew up with someone?”

Artoo broke into a peal of delighted beeps and whoops, rocking back and forth in a happy little dance. Ani laughed and slung an arm around the droid’s chassis, going for an awkward hug. “Oh, you pull that joke on everyone? Well I’m glad to see you too!”

Scuffle – Ani hadn't asked who'd named the Voorpak or why – chirruped its own little victory cheer, hopping off Padmé’s shoulder to the top of Artoo’s dome. The astromech gave a confused beep and twirled around, trying to see the new addition until Scuffle leaned forward to peer upside down at Artoo’s optical sensor. The two droids bwooped and chirped at each other, as Ani stood and brushed off his pants. He beamed at Padmé, sidling a little closer to her. “Good to know they’re getting along,” he murmured. Padmé didn’t seem to speak Binary, and it was possibly just as well if she didn’t pick up on the weird posturing thing the two droids were getting into about who was more impressive. When Artoo heard about the fate of the assassins, he bwooped a cautious question at Ani.

“Yeah, that was me.” He snickered. “What, you want some upgrades?”

Artoo whistled a thoughtful “not sure.”

Padmé shook her head. “I guess that means next time we visit, I need you along.” She smiled and rested a hand on Artoo’s dome. “You can think on what you want, if anything.” Padmé turned that smile from the astromech to Ani. “We’ll figure it out next time.”

Ani tried not to beam at her like an addle-pated idiot, but he couldn’t help it. She wouldn’t lie to her astromech, not one that loyal to her. She _would_ be back.

* * *

Several days later, after things had settled a bit and Yoda and the others had returned, Qui-Gon sat in the little office he now shared with Cliegg, drafting up plans and notes. He could feel Siri approaching well before she knocked on the doorframe. He gestured at the door, using the Force to slide it open. His brows went up as Siri slipped in and shut it behind her.

“There was one thing I didn’t mention in the mission debrief earlier.”

“Oh?” He sat back, setting down the datapad. He’d thought the group discussion about the mission had gone well – oh, dear gods they were now an organization that had missions, and he and Yoda had already started to make a log of relevant details. It was not the dry folderol he’d done as a Jedi, verbally presenting the details that, should the Council be assed to bother, they could read for themselves. It had been more a group assessment, noting details that had been left out of a hacked together summary that would never have passed for the Jedi.

“On the way back here I got a weird tip commed in to me.” She made a face. “More accurately, Sora got a tip. Footage from a Senate meeting that’s got one hell of a gag order on it. I looked into it, and this is spreading through the scummier types, but the more reputable circles are clueless.”

She set down a holoprojector and started it. Grainy footage started, from what looked to be the senate dome, taken with a clandestine recorder. Qui-Gon had to bite back a twinge as he could pick out repair work from their battle with Sidious, but the recorder didn’t linger until it focused on a pod near the Chancellor’s. A skinny, tall being of a species he did not recognize was talking passionately, gesturing around at the Senate, and then to the youngling next to her. “Any idea what they’re discussing?”

“There’s a lot of wild speculation – more than I thought, when I started looking into it – but no audio. Given the sub-par quality of the recording and that she’s – I think it’s a she – not making enough familiar mouth movements for someone clever to lip read, no one knows for sure. With there being _nothing_ through official channels, people are seriously starting to wonder what’s up.”

Qui-Gon paused the holo, zooming the flickery footage in on the youngling so many were focused on. The child stood at attention as if he were older, military to the core – not something one saw in children often.

“I feel like I know him,” Qui-Gon murmured, the Force resonating around him in the oddest way, “but...I don’t recognize him.”

Siri leaned in for a closer look on the youngling. “Reminds you of a padawan, maybe?” She didn’t sound too confident of the guess.

“Mm. Perhaps.” He didn’t think so, but one never knew. “Keep an ear out for any more rumors while you’re on travel. We’ve a lot to do, and this is just one more mystery in the universe.”

Siri beamed at him, reclaiming the holoprojector and tucking it into a belt pouch. “What’s one more job, right?”


End file.
